Putting Baseball to the Test

By Tom Callahan

Everybody under Peter Ueberroth's power has been ordered to the specimen jar to prove that no one in baseball gets a kick from cocaine--with the possible exception of the players. By all reports, enough of them are using coke to interest grand juries and alarm the commissioner. But since drug testing of major leaguers, as negotiated by their union, is a largely voluntary matter, Ueberroth is cracking down on the bat boys, secretaries, office clerks, scouts, managers (Pete Rose included?), owners--and commissioners--in a gesture that is undeniably noble, probably futile and more than faintly Olympian. Sentimental waves that start in sport and extend to the country must be considered his specialty.

"My intention is to see to it that baseball rids itself of drugs," he says simply. "If, by example, we assist any other part of society because of our visibility, that's a secondary benefit. I'm not on some crusade." Keeping the emphasis on help rather than punishment, he is hopeful the Players Association will come around to concurring that baseball's voluntary drug program has proved insufficient, though early returns from the rank and file indicate that ballplayers are as loath as anyone else to swallow truth serum at the workplace. St. Louis Second Baseman and Player Representative Tom Herr says, "Part of me resents the fact that I could be subjected to testing," though he also admits, "another part of me says that maybe it's the only way to stop the abuse going on."

While Ueberroth believes that "the huge majority of players are just as clean as they can be," he knows that the shadow of drug abuse is so pervasive in athletics that it has become one of the first theories for every slump. "If I was a major league baseball player, I'd want to take the test," he says, "to remove any doubt. One minute three or four times a year would not be the end of the world." The role that cocaine played in the Tulane University basketball team's recent gambling scandal made an impression on Ueberroth. "We're not going to have a Tulane in baseball," he vows.

All the same, baseball is braced for a disgrace of its own, more trauma on the order of the cocaine-related jail terms served by four former Kansas City teammates last year. Whether players or their suppliers are the direct targets of the new investigation, reports that a federal grand jury in Pittsburgh is about to hand down several embarrassing indictments helped time Ueberroth's announcement last week. "Accelerated it," using his phrase. For four months, athletes as eminent as the Mets' Keith Hernandez, the Yankees' Dale Berra, the Orioles' Lee Lacy and the Expos' Tim Raines have been trooping to the witness stand in Pittsburgh, setting the city to whispering about drug sales transacted right in the clubhouse. If a player is implicated in any crime, immunity from prosecution may not protect him from the commissioner. The crowd of fans now staking out the moral high ground may thin out a little if the issue comes down to a home star forced to sit out the pennant race.

This season the National League champion San Diego Padres have lost Second Baseman Alan Wiggins to a drug-care unit for the second time in three years. His relapse was particularly pathetic because the Padres embraced Wiggins in the manner of a loving family standing by a troublesome son. They avoided being judgmental, and Owner Joan Kroc visited him at the detoxification center. "I will never give up on any human being as long as they are breathing," she says, but the club has suspended Wiggins for the rest of the season. After his treatment settled a 1982 cocaine possession charge, Wiggins gave inspiring talks to youth groups for the San Diego police department. His unpolished delivery was so earnestly affecting that he was chosen to represent the Padres in one of 26 national antidrug television spots. In a badly timed news release, the announcement of his good work nearly coincided with the disclosure that he had slipped again.

If the particulars of Ueberroth's program have been worked out, the details have not been released. But owners and general managers are racing each other to be No. 1 in line. "I endorse it heavily," says Chicago Cubs General Manager Dallas Green; St. Louis Executive Fred Kuhlmann offers, "I would be the first to volunteer."

Since they are not members of the union, all minor leaguers will be compelled to take the tests, though cocaine is not a drug generally associated with smaller salaries. At that, urine sampling is common if not routine in the bush leagues already. The Hagerstown Suns, Baltimore's Class A farmhands, thought it hilarious that the commissioner's edict fell on the day of their regular checkup. "We'll standardize the tests, though," says Ueberroth, whose Olympic experience assures him that the results are dependable. Maybe, like helmets in hockey, the tests will become such a matter of course in the minors that they will hardly be noticed by the next generation. But Don Fehr, acting executive director of the union, seems to doubt it. Although there is space for amendment, he notes that in the year since labor and management have entered into their joint drug plan, no player requested to undergo testing has refused. "As far as we can tell, our agreement is working--not perfectly, but it's working."

Fehr has a keen and proper concern for the rights of men. "We don't want major league players treated any differently than anybody else in this country," he says. "We don't want them treated any better, but we certainly don't want them treated any worse." On the other hand, Ueberroth has a keen and proper concern for the heroic images of idols admired and emulated by youthful fans. Their game is endangered.

With reporting by Lee Griggs/ Chicago and William Tynan/ New York